


Flying Free: Safe Landing

by blueraccoon



Series: Khan/Kirk wingfic [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 19:05:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueraccoon/pseuds/blueraccoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim thinks back to flying with him the night before, to Khan catching him when he’d wavered, arms tight around his chest, and later, to Khan’s body against his, hands rough and voice low. That can’t have been anything but honest. Can it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flying Free: Safe Landing

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who said you wanted smut in Flying Free - well, have a scene that didn't fit into the main story. If you're unfamiliar with FF, all you really need to know is that Khan and Jim are sort of involved and oh yeah, they both have wings. Other than that, this is a PWP that really can stand alone.

He doesn’t have the wingspan or the strength Khan does, but it’s enough to keep him in the air, circling higher and higher against the night sky, until he thinks he can almost touch the faint, wispy clouds above, reach out a hand and cover the stars. He’s aware of Khan staying close but not too close, and Jim appreciates his thoughtfulness; he wants the company but he also wants to be alone, and Khan’s skating the perfect balance in the air with him. 

When his wings start to ache, he ignores it, but he wobbles, and again, and falls a short distance--a couple meters, no more--and Khan’s there to catch him, arms locked around his torso, his own wings beating more strongly to keep them both aloft. “You may not want to acknowledge your limits, but you have them,” Khan says, and Jim kisses him because seriously, what else can he do?

They float to the ground slowly, still tangled together and Jim more interested in Khan’s mouth on his than the dull ache in his wings and chest muscles. Once they land, though, Khan lets go of him and steps back, and Jim licks swollen lips. “Come on,” he says, taking Khan’s hand. “My place isn’t that far.”

He drops Khan’s hand as they walk, the only contact between them the occasional brush of wings. It’s still enough to make Jim shiver and his skin prickle, and he’s already half hard by the time he fumbles the lock to his apartment and lets them inside, closing the door and locking it with more emphasis than he needs.

“Tell me what you want,” Khan says softly, and Jim licks his lips again, turning to face him.

“You,” he says, because it’s the only answer he can give. 

“How?” Khan asks, and Jim runs his hands through his hair in frustration, because how the hell is he supposed to _think_ like this?

“In me,” he says, his voice sounding dry and cracked to his own ears. “Just...you feel so good in me.”

Khan holds out a hand silently and Jim moves to take it, lets Khan pull him in against his body and kiss him, hard and gentle at the same time, and still with that edge of control Jim knows he’ll lose eventually. He smiles to himself at the thought; pushing Khan until he loses control is possibly dangerous, but it’s also hotter than anything he’s ever experienced. 

Kisses turn into more kisses and hands on Jim’s body, but Khan makes a low sound when Jim reaches for him and pushes his hands back, fingers circling his wrists in an unspoken command to keep them at his sides. Jim pulls against the hold because and Khan’s hands tighten, and Jim gasps without meaning to. “So,” Khan murmurs against his jaw. “It’s like that, is it?”

“Always,” Jim says without meaning to and Khan laughs, low and potentially deadly. 

Khan bites his jaw and lets go of him. “Clothes, off,” he says, already reaching for the fastenings on his own shirt. Jim breathes in deeply and strips as fast as he can and okay, that shirt might never close around his wings again but he doesn’t fucking care. He looks at Khan again when they’re both nude, challenging him without words, hoping he understands what Jim can’t quite bring himself to ask for.

For a moment, he doesn’t understand, because Khan picks up his shirt, and then he hears the sound of ripping fabric and his stomach clenches. A moment later, and Khan wraps the strip around his wrists, tying it tighter than maybe he should, but Jim can twist his hands and he’s in no current danger of losing circulation. “There,” Khan murmurs, and Jim catches his breath. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, and Khan laughs again.

Despite the makeshift binding Khan closes his hands around Jim’s wrists again, pulls him close and kisses him hard, and Jim’s knees go to water. He thinks he’s in danger of falling, and then he thinks he really _is_ falling and realizes he’s being pushed back against the bed, has just enough time to tuck in his wings before he hits the mattress. “Hands over your head,” Khan says and Jim can do nothing but comply, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. 

“Tell me again this is what you want,” Khan says, and Jim swallows, trying to get some moisture in his mouth.

“I want this,” he manages, hoarser than he means to be and so fucking turned on it hurts. “I want you.” He licks his lips. “Please.”

“Yes,” Khan whispers and his mouth lands on Jim’s, hands skimming over his body with casual possessiveness, long fingers tweaking a nipple and making Jim groan into the kiss. Khan’s not gentle with him, and Jim doesn’t know whether to hope for bruises or be smart and hope there aren’t any marks he’ll have to hide or ignore later. At the moment, he can’t think past the feel of Khan’s hands against his skin, smooth and callused at the same time, the scratch of short nails making him hiss and draw up his knees, spreading his legs at Khan’s unspoken command.

Khan says something in a language Jim doesn’t understand, but the tone is approving, affectionate even. Jim breathes out slowly, getting one chance to do that before teeth sink into the skin over his collarbone and he cries out, arching up into the bite. “No--no marks,” he says with what’s left of his brain, hating that he has to.

“You have a dermal regenerator,” Khan says in response, and Jim groans because how did he forget that? 

“In that case...” He manages a smile. “I don’t care.”

He will later. Dermal regen isn’t painless, but oh, God, that’s another bite to his throat, and the hand on his hip is tight enough to bruise--might be the point, really--and Jim’s never had a lover so much more stronger than he is, so able to just _use_ him like this. “Please,” he whispers, shuddering as Khan’s fingers stroke over his thighs. “Please, God, anything you want, just...”

“Just what, Jim?” Khan’s voice is almost a purr.

“Don’t stop,” Jim says, both embarrassed and turned on by how desperate he sounds.

“No,” Khan says against his stomach. “That is far from the idea.” 

“What _is_ the idea?” Jim asks around a moan, unable to stop the way he twists into Khan’s hands, his own fingers digging into the pillows just to have something to hang on to. 

“Come, now, Jim,” Khan says, teasing him. “Have you not figured it out?”

“Really--really haven’t,” Jim says, forcing his eyes open to meet Khan’s. 

“You wanted me,” Khan says, crawling up Jim’s body to lie flat on him, almost nose-to-nose. “I am giving you exactly what you wanted.” 

“I wanted you in me,” Jim says, rocking his hips up and shuddering at the feel of Khan’s cock against his own, hot and hard and just enough slick from them both to make it so fucking good. “I haven’t gotten that yet.”

“Patience,” Khan says, kissing Jim’s jaw. “The night is young.”

“For you,” Jim complains. “I don’t have your superior stamina.”

Khan laughs again. “Is that a challenge or a protest?”

“It’s a get on with it and just fuck me already,” Jim says, a growl in his voice.

“No,” Khan says after a moment. He kneels up over Jim, taking away the contact where Jim wants it, and his hands close around Jim’s wrists. “Not tonight.” 

“Bastard,” Jim says, not sure whether he means it or not. He pulls at the grip, but Khan’s hands are like steel, and no matter how hard he throws himself against it, Khan doesn’t let go. Jim shouts at him, even, the bed creaking when he throws his weight against his hands, and nothing happens but that faint, satisfied smile on Khan’s face.

“Is that what you need, Jim? To fight me, to know you will lose, to know that tonight I have control because _you_ asked me to take it? Fight me, then,” Khan says, and lets go, and Jim swings his bound wrists at Khan’s face and gets blocked a centimeter away, easily, as though Khan had all the time in the world. “Here, I will even make it easier for you,” Khan says, and undoes the fabric tying Jim’s wrists together. 

“Condescending bastard,” Jim says, his blood on fire and his body a tangled mix of anger and _need_ and God, he tries for a punch, gets blocked by a hand closing around his fist, tries to kick Khan’s knees out from under him and gets stopped by Khan’s other hand. They grapple on the bed, Jim not bothering to hold back because nothing he does will hurt Khan and he knows it. He can’t land any blows Khan doesn’t let him land, and Khan’s fighting solely defensively. He doesn’t want to hurt Jim, and that knowledge somehow makes him fight more wildly, makes him growl and shout and get shoved back against the bed over and over again, bruises forming around his wrists from where Khan’s held him. 

He’s trembling on the verge of something he doesn’t understand, something wild and dangerous and more out of control than he’s ever been, and instead of trying for another punch, or a kick, or anything, he grabs Khan’s hair and kisses him, teeth and tongue and he tastes blood, isn’t sure whose. Khan kisses him back, one hand tangled in his hair and the other around his wrist. Jim shudders and just...something in him just breaks, just cracks wide open and he whimpers against Khan’s mouth, the fight leaving him as quickly as it started. “Please,” he whispers, not sure what’s going on in his head and not even sure Khan knows.

“Shh,” Khan whispers back, kissing his lips gently, his forehead, each eyelid, his cheeks. “I have you.” 

He does. Jim gulps in a breath and wonders when the last time anyone had him like this was, if it’s ever happened before. He shifts to his knees and leans his forehead against Khan’s and Khan’s wings wrap around him, holding him close. Safe. 

“I have you,” Khan says again and Jim chokes back a sound that wants to be a sob. 

The rest of the world doesn’t matter. There’s only them right now, only this, and he’s safe with Khan, possibly safer than he’s ever been. Jim tilts his head to kiss Khan, gentle and sweet and still the fire burns, and he _wants_ , so badly. “Please,” he says, wondering if it’s the only word he can manage at this point.

Khan kisses him one last time and shifts his wings back. “On your stomach.”

Jim takes a moment to breathe, just breathe, before he nods and turns and lies down, head pillowed on his arms. Khan runs gentle fingers down his back, between his wings, lips following until they reach the small of his back. Jim feels heavy, drugged almost, cock aching and mind gone hazy. He tries to think, tries to focus on something, anything but Khan’s hand in the small of his back and sounds he can’t identify, and can’t. He should be scared of that, he thinks, he’s never been so far gone he couldn’t think of something else before, but there’s no fear left in him. Only need and trust.

One slick finger touches him, and he realizes vaguely what he must have been hearing. He shifts, just enough, drawing up his knees under him and giving Khan more access, until that slick finger presses into him, slow and smooth and still enough to make him groan. He closes his eyes against his crossed arms, focusing himself on the hand still in the small of his back, the finger inside him. He hears Khan say something, again in that language he doesn’t know, and the hand on his back slides up between his wings, pressing right where Jim didn’t even realize he had a sore spot until it’s gone. 

“Relax,” Khan says softly, and that much Jim can do, mumbling assent against his arms and feeling like he’s melting into the bed. 

One finger becomes more, too damn slowly, and Jim may be relaxed but he’s so turned on he can’t keep from pressing back against Khan’s hand, wanting more than this slow, steady progression, more than this deliberate torture. “Please,” he says, not sure Khan can hear him; he can barely hear _himself_ over the blood roaring in his ears.

“Yes,” Khan says, and the fingers inside him twist and press and Jim cries out, shoving back against Khan’s hand and cock jumping under him. “How much can you take, Jim?” Khan asks, again in that almost-purr. 

“Anything you can give me,” Jim says even though he has no idea if it’s true. He knows Khan needs less sleep than he does, knows Khan’s stamina outmatches his own, and doesn’t give a fuck. 

“Anything?” Jim can hear the smile in his voice, and oh, fuck, that’s four fingers now. 

“Anything,” Jim whispers, gritting his teeth against a whine and losing his breath when Khan presses just _so_. He sucks in oxygen and tries again. “I trust you.”

“Yes,” Khan murmurs. “You do.” 

_I have you._ Jim’s flying again, soaring through the air, knowing he’ll land safely when he comes crashing down, and it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever felt. He thought he knew sex, thought he knew about playing games, but this isn’t a game and it’s not just sex, either. He doesn’t know entirely what it _is_ ; that’s too big for him to comprehend right now. All he knows is he trusts Khan to catch him, to _have_ him. 

He still chokes off a whimper when he feels Khan’s thumb pressing so carefully, and okay he’s done this before--once--and it was with a woman and she had smaller fucking hands and Jim loses that train of thought before it even gets fully formed, shivering against the bed. For once, though, his wings are quiet, half-folded and relaxed, and even as he groans helplessly and ignores that his cheeks are damp they stay that way. “Khan,” he says, not even sure why. “Please.”

“Let me in, Jim,” Khan says softly, being so damned careful, so patient, and Jim shudders and focuses on breathing, in and out, convincing muscles to relax, the burn too much and not enough, and then something just gives and Jim gasps. 

“I--oh--I don’t--”

“You do,” Khan says. 

“Please,” Jim says helplessly. “Please.” He can’t stop the sounds he’s making, broken moans and gasps and pleas, shaking all over with the force of it, with how _much_ he feels right now. It’s almost too much for orgasm; he’s overloaded, overwhelmed. He hears Khan murmuring something but can’t make out the words, if they’re even in English. 

He comes when he doesn’t expect it, feeling like he’s shattered into a million pieces and still it doesn’t stop, Khan doesn’t stop touching him, inside and out. “I can’t,” he gasps. 

“You can,” Khan reassures him, and maybe it’s an order or something because Jim feels a bit steadier from hearing that. Khan thinks he can do this and therefore Jim will, even though he has no fucking idea how. 

Slowly, Khan eases his hand back, keeping three fingers inside Jim, still fucking him, still fucking _owning_ him, and Jim bites his teeth on a sob when pleasure turns to pain as his cock tries to get hard again. He rides it out, because there’s nothing else he _can_ do, and slowly--too fucking slowly, but God, the burn’s sweet--it turns to pleasure, until he’s shivering in _need_ again and pushing back and pleading with Khan, who says things Jim can’t understand even if they are in English, but the approving tone is all he needs. 

And then the fingers are gone and it’s Khan’s cock inside him, Khan pressed to his back, Khan’s mouth on his shoulders, above his wings. “Please,” Jim says, the only word he has left, not sure if he’s flying or drowning, not sure it matters. 

“Yes,” Khan tells him, promises him. “I have you.” 

Jim squeezes his eyes shut against tears he doesn’t understand and focuses on moving with Khan as best he can, shifting to press his forehead against the mattress, arms outstretched and fingers holding the edge of the bed. He feels Khan move and his hands take Jim’s wrists again, gentle this time. Jim doesn’t want gentle; he pulls at Khan’s hold just to feel it tighten. He’ll have circlets of bruises there later, and he doesn’t want to heal them. Doesn’t want to think about that. He shakes his head and Khan bites his shoulder, as if in warning. 

“Catch me,” he says, not even sure what he means. “Please.”

“Always,” Khan says, and that thing in Jim’s chest breaks wide open again.

He sucks in air, not ready to come yet, not after the first time. But Khan’s still moving steadily inside him and Jim doesn’t want this to be over, possibly ever. He scrubs his face against his arm, aware of the dampness and pretending it doesn’t exist. 

The air feels heavy and thick and all Jim can smell is the two of them, sex and the scent of Khan’s wings mixed with his own. He’s surrounded in Khan, drowning in him, falling from orbit, and only Khan’s grip on his wrists and Khan’s body against his keep him from suffocating or burning up. He loses track of time, how long they move together. He can feel the ache in his body, the dull throb in his wrists and elsewhere, and the need to come is urgent now, but something’s holding him back even as he gasps with pleasure and twists under Khan.

“Jim,” Khan says. “Now.” 

Jim doesn’t have a chance to think about it. He comes, hard enough everything goes blurry, enough that he barely notices Khan’s teeth in his shoulder and Khan coming inside him, and only vaguely realizes a moment later that Khan’s moving him, unfolding cramped legs and tucking his wings back and shifting Jim to lie against him, under the covers.

What he does realize is that he’s crying softly, and he can’t stop it, and he _hates_ crying and he doesn’t even know why he can’t stop. Khan just holds him, arms and wings, and strokes his hair and presses his lips to Jim’s forehead and slowly, eventually, the tears stop and Jim lies there, utterly spent and exhausted and mind quiet. 

“Sleep, Jim,” Khan says quietly, and Jim thinks that’s not right, they should...talk, or something, or...

He’s asleep before he finishes the thought.

**Author's Note:**

> So, um, this really didn't go the way I expected it to, I will say that much. I'm not quite sure where I _did_ expect it to go, but this was not it. That's not necessarily a bad thing.


End file.
